Ethan
by Ripper101
Summary: Insinuates violence and pain and all that sad, soppy stuff... Strictly GilesEthan told by Angel.
1. 1

FUNNY HOW THE NIGHT MOVES  
  
What can I say; hiding in shadows has always been a part of my act. As a human, I loved the bright, shiny sunlight where people could see me and talk and notice my rebellion. As Angelus.well, obviously it just shifted to the moonlight, didn't it? Darker shades of black. But the shadows are my home; they hide me from both the sunlight and the moonlight; keep me safe. Maybe that's why I understand this little charade being played around me.  
  
A knock at the door- I still live at the Hyperion, even though no one else does- and I opened it. The smell in the air already told me who it was.  
  
"Giles," I said, nodding warily at the man. I'm never comfortable around him.  
  
"Angel," he replied, just as uncomfortable. Fearful really, the signs were there and I read them all. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything."  
  
"Nothing at all," I said soothingly, no point not being polite. "What can I do for you? I thought you were in England with Willow?"  
  
"I left," he told me. And I wasn't not sure whether to press for more and I was just deciding not to when he continued, sitting in a chair as if he was too drained to stand. "I couldn't live there any more."  
  
And I understand his problem. It's home; yet not. He wants what he remembers. And when it comes down to people like us, even what we remember is never pleasant. He's caught in limbo and that sends him shooting from the place he loves and can't understand to the place he understands but hates.  
  
"You can stay," I told him. And he looked a little surprised, like he never expected that. He also accepted and went his way to one of the farthest rooms he could find. With a hundred of those, we could live here and never have to meet. It works for both of us.  
  
It was another night when we happened to be sitting in the old offices discussing mythology when another knock came. This time I thought it was Wesley. It was. Only he had someone in his arms who looked like they were close to death if not dead already.  
  
Giles took one look and grabbed the man, carrying the slim frame away as if he couldn't trust it to either of the two of us watching him.  
  
I finally had to ask. "Who was that?" I asked, looking confused.  
  
"Ethan Rayne," he said tiredly, "Wolfram and Hart had him in their confines for work on a prophecy. I only found out when they sent the report to me for double-checking. I only got him out two hours ago."  
  
"How'd you do it?" And really, I wanted to know because Wolfram and Hart know our backgrounds and they have enough files on Buffy and Giles and the rest to tell them that Ethan Rayne is a precious commodity in our little group.  
  
Wesley stayed silent for a while. You know, one of those 'I'm a strong, silent British bloke who's also intellectual' silences. "I pulled a few strings and brought him in from the Chicago base. He's in my custody."  
  
And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the wonder that is Wesley Wyndham- Price. The man is either a fucking genius or a damn fool! He's just had a psychotically inclined mystic released because he knew what the man meant to Giles. And he finishes with the brilliant encore of placing his own ass on the line.  
  
Giles came back down three days later with red eyes and days worth of stubble and looked like he was on his last legs. "He's better," was all he said.  
  
Gunn and Fred don't really know what to make of it all. Wesley has, to my evident astonishment, welcomed Giles' presence in this place. It's like he's only relaxed when I'm there or Giles is there. And I'm still figuring that out.  
  
Fred looked at me. "Angel, what are we going to do about that poor man?"  
  
I sighed. "I don't know. We have to find out what they did to him."  
  
Giles shuddered when I said that, but not in fear. No, I've seen that and this is different- this is anger. "They ran tests. They injected him with god knows what to see what he's capable of. He's been drugged with everything under the sun and then they even experimented with his magical powers. This was, of course, done independently to the torturing for information that he went through."  
  
And hell, but that man knows how to silence a room. Even I can pity the poor bastard for that. Wolfram and Hart is an 'eat or be eaten' world. And I can imagine how they ate Ethan Rayne for breakfast and then forced him back to life so they could do it again.  
  
Wesley looked a little green. "What are his injuries, Giles? Is there anything we can do?"  
  
And the Watchers went up-stairs to sort this out. Fred, Gunn and I sat where we were and talked- about cases, about life, and about what we would like to do. It's noise basically, that they make to remind themselves and everybody else that they're alive. Am I being cold? Well, duh! I'm a walking corpse!  
  
Anyway, it wasn't for a month before I finally saw the man again. I came up from the sewers one sunny California day to find a thin, bony shape sitting in my dark office.  
  
"Ethan Rayne," I said, coming up silently behind him.  
  
And I'll swear he never knew I was there before but he didn't jump or start or get distressed. Merely craned his head back to see me. "Hello," he said politely, before looking in front again.  
  
I sat down. I'm always intrigued by people who don't give the devil's kiss about my ability to sneak up and bite them. No one I know ever has done that. Not once they know my legacy anyway.  
  
"How do you feel?" I asked gently.  
  
"Like I've spent two years being tortured," he said neutrally, "And that was before I got out and got captured by Wolfram and Hart a month later."  
  
I raised my eyebrows. I had no idea about the previous parts. "You were tortured before? When?"  
  
The man said nothing, so I didn't push it. I merely stood up, told him that we would do everything to help him and tried to leave. The smell of salt tears didn't encourage that.  
  
"Rayne, what's wrong?" I asked, nervously. Of course I'm nervous! The man's curled up like a kitten in my chair and he's been tortured for over three years and he's crying! The sadistic bastard almost caused my Buffy's death but he's crying like a child because someone said they'd try to make it better.  
  
When I touched him I suddenly realized why. He was brittle, fragile almost. And I got so scared I'd break him. I wished Giles was there even if it meant he'd chew me out for upsetting his darling.  
  
"Angel, go," the man gasped, getting to his feet. "And don't tell Ripper about this or I'll kill you myself."  
  
And I left, but not without a sympathetic stroke of his shoulder. I still figure I can give him that much emotion.  
  
And let me here and now state he's gotten better. Everyday Giles comes down a little paler, a little weaker. but Ethan is stronger. And being the vampire that I am, I don't mention the smell of blood on either of them. But I know how it happens. The advantages of shadow again, you understand.  
  
I came up two days late, after spending time on a case. It was night and I'd offered to cook for the others but they were tired. Yeah. So I was alone, thank god.  
  
They were in the offices, stark naked both of them, and I could see why. Ripper was back with a vengeance because the magic in that room was so thick it could choke a person. The slashes in Giles' body accounted for the blood loss and the way he let Ethan drain him and ride him definitely accounted for fatigue. Man, I've seen vampires who are less sadistic! But Giles took it all without a word. And I could tell he was running the magicks too.  
  
Ethan was down again the next morning, sitting in my dark office; but this time not in my chair. "Ripper says you saw us last night," was what came out without warning. I have to say I blinked and almost turned tail.  
  
That smirk of his peeped back at me. Oh, Ethan Rayne heals fast, he does. I'm learning that. He settled himself in what had been the client's chair and looked at me. I sighed and sat down.  
  
"Angel, I don't know what you saw, I'm only asking," he pointed out, "I was, as you could no doubt observe, a little busy."  
  
I noted the dry humor. "Yeah, I got that," I informed him, "It would be hard to notice another presence when you're flaying your partner with a riding crop so that you can drink his blood."  
  
After that he sighed. Amazing how most dangerous men sigh.  
  
"The spell required flagellation as a means to humiliation, fear and pain. I tried to make it pleasurable as well. Giles isn't into that sort, if you're worried. He does it for me."  
  
"And at risk to himself," I remind him bluntly, "The man's almost collapsing where he sits. Even Gunn's noticed it and Gunn has no reason to."  
  
This time Rayne didn't give me the two-dollar deal on his pretended opinion. He gestured helplessly like he really had no choice. "I've tried to stop him, but he won't. He won't rest. The only thing I can do is getting him to sleep later in the morning. And that's only because he can't force his body to do otherwise."  
  
"I'll talk to him," I said, more as a way to see how genuine his reaction was than as an intended action.  
  
Ethan actually smiled. Not a smirk, he gave me a relived, sweet, grateful smile. So this is who Giles sees. "I'm glad. Thank you!"  
  
So that's why I'm here, waiting for him to come down on a Wednesday night because those are the nights we usually meet in the deserted offices and talk. Sometimes Wesley joins us, and once or twice Ethan Rayne has. It's usually just us, though.  
  
Wait; he's coming down. I can hear the soft footfall. I looked up and god damn it, but I'm startled. The man looks like hell!  
  
"Hello," he croaks valiantly, dropping into a chair.  
  
I stare at the scarecrow figure with the gray underlying his pale skin and the lackluster hair. The pretty gray-green eyes don't sparkle any more. And the hands tremble as he hides them under the table.  
  
"Are you okay?" Oh right, moron! Because he's not going to be on the defensive with that!  
  
"I'm fine, Angel," surprisingly he doesn't even care about his pride any more. I suppose flagellation and constant other humiliations will do that to you.  
  
"Giles, I want you to stop!"  
  
And yes, I can say that because the man is hardly even the shadow of his former self and because he's mine and he bears my marking and why do you think vampires react to him the way they do? The stupid ones go after him; the smart ones leave him alone. Mine!  
  
"I can't! It's healing him," he whispers. Eyes downcast.  
  
"Rupert, love."  
  
And he's shocked. There, now I've really done it. "What did you say?" he gasps.  
  
"No, no, sit!" I bark. There's that fear again. And this time evident because he has no strength left to hide behind. "Giles," I emphasis the changed name usage, "You're killing yourself. Ethan will get better on his own. He's already well enough that you can stop."  
  
"But he needs more," Giles said stubbornly, pushing his glasses up his nose.  
  
And what can you say to such childish logic. "Giles, let me make myself clear. Ethan will be fine on his own. If I smell blood and dark sulphur on you once more in the rest of this week, I will tie you down to a bed and tell Ethan Rayne to put up an anti-magic spell around you." And I'm serious.  
  
He stares at me with big eyes, looking some kind of cute, faded little kid. I almost expect his lower lip to start wobbling as the tears come. And yes, have I mentioned how broken he is? The fact that he's crying on my shoulder should say that. 


	2. 2

Author's Note: I was requested and I thought it might be interesting to see how everything goes in a follow up. It's a little less angsty than the first chapter so my other reviewer shouldn't have to say 'Ouch!' again. Kaat, I'm afraid it may not have the ending you're looking for.  
  
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Later that night I sit in my room and I think. Giles will move out now, of that I'm sure. Even when he's almost a walking zombie he won't stand to break down. Funny, really- I tried so hard to break him when he was in my power. I used everything I could think of to throw him off balance, to make him beg. But he didn't! Just took it all and spat in my face when I was done. And then in one night he's sobbing on my shoulder?  
  
It seems so unfair, so wrong for something like to happen. People like us, we don't breakdown like that. It scares me in a way, because Giles was the one person I thought would never break. Bend, maybe; but bow- never! And now he's torn in half and shattered.  
  
And I wonder why Ethan would inspire something like that in him. I wonder what it is that makes him worth breaking for. I mean to find out. Wesley will help me.  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
When I finally get around to talking to Wesley, it's a week later and he comes to me. It's somehow heartening to know he cares just as much.  
  
"Angel, we need to do something," he says. No whats or hows or whys; just the facts.  
  
"Okay," I agree, "What do you think we should do?"  
  
And that stumps him. So he does what he does when he's nervous- he doesn't say anything. He just gives that shake of his head that tells me he's out of ideas. So it's my turn to try to think something up.  
  
"Maybe we can call Willow?" I venture.  
  
"No!" He's adamant about that and I can trust Wes with this sort of thing. "If we tell any of the others, they'll want to come down here. And I don't think Giles can stand that."  
  
"Wes, tell me about Ethan Rayne," I finally ask, leaning back in my chair.  
  
Wesley looks a little surprised, but he nods and settles in to tell his tale. We're both comfortable like this; and it's been a while since that's happened.  
  
"They were friends. According to highly confidential Council files on his past, they were also lovers. It didn't work out and when life on the streets went sour, apparently Giles realized the error of his ways and went back to the Council. That may not be strictly true, but it's as close as the Council ever got. The parting, however, was not mutual. Giles left; Ethan's kept following very once in a while. According to what I can find, Ethan ended up in the clutches of a confidential governmental group called the Initiative some years ago. It's-"  
  
"I've met Riley Finn," I interrupt, "Keep going."  
  
Wesley gives me this little mocking bow but continues soberly enough. "He was experimented upon there. There's no other way to say it. He managed to escape after two years and things began to look up. Except his powers were at an all time low due to the strain he'd been subjected to and he was practically defenseless when Wolfram and Hart came calling. He spent another eighteen months or so with them."  
  
"Wesley, that doesn't tell me anything," I point out. I'm getting a little irritated by this point and can you blame me? If I wanted his history, I'd have said so. But I control myself and stay calm so as not to look threatening. "What's the man like? Why is Giles acting like he's the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?"  
  
Wesley took a long time to answer that. I was beginning to think he didn't want to say anything and I can tell when someone is nervous. Wesley was very nervous.  
  
"Giles was the one who turned him over to the Initiative in the first place," he sighs.  
  
Blue eyes look bleak and I can see why; no wonder Giles is punishing himself! He wasn't particularly stable when he got here and then to see what he was responsible for! I know what I would feel if anyone harmed Spike.  
  
"Angel?" Wesley sounds worried. "Angel, are you all right?"  
  
"Huh?" That's right, Angelus, play dumb. "Oh, yeah! I'm fine, Wes. Just thinking."  
  
"I'm worried, Angel," Wesley mumbles, tapping a nail on the arm of his chair, "Giles isn't looking at all well. And not just physically! He looks trapped and terrified. I keep expecting him to just collapse. Can't you do something?"  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Yes, you! He won't listen to me. I'm still just Wesley; from Sunnydale, no less!"  
  
I'm beginning to see a pattern here. Apparently I'm surrounded by people with guilt complexes. Or does the Watcher's Council have a patent for them? Do they churn them out like fresh butter every six months or something?  
  
"No, you're not, Wes. And he doesn't think that." Maybe if I explain patiently. "Besides, I don't think he'll want anything to do with me. I tortured him, remember?"  
  
Wesley shrugs and we drop the topic. We have other cases to deal with, other problems to solve. In reality, Giles is his own man and we can't really stop him from doing anything he wants to. Like Europe, we're practicing the policy of Appeasement. Maybe this time, Hitler won't come to power and World War II won't happen. But I doubt it. Hitler will come to power; and we won't achieve anything out of letting Giles be. Something worse will happen.  
  
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I love it when I'm right. Luckily, this is not one of those times.  
  
"Ethan? What are you doing here?"  
  
He's blinking in the sudden flood of light. I bet he's forgotten I don't exactly require a good night's sleep. That and I don't relish light when I'm brooding. Yup! He's staring at me like a goldfish and I'd say he's panicked.  
  
"Angel!"  
  
Nice recovery! I make a mental note to compliment him on that.  
  
"I, uh, wasn't expecting to see you here."  
  
There's a dropped bag on the floor by his feet and he's dressed to go out. It's a far cry from the man who was brought here half dead. In the glare on the overhead lights he looks refreshed, rested and very much more revitalized. I wonder how much is natural healing and how much is stolen energy.  
  
The smell of fear and uncertainty hits me, along with something else. It's something I've smelt only once in my entire unlife, and it conjures memories of a woman who failed to get away fast enough before I snapped her neck like a twig. I took her body there, to his room. The first and only time I was ever in there and there was a lingering smell on the sheets. I taunted him with it in events after that-  
  
"Wasted seed, Rupert? Just think; if you'd played your cards right she might still be alive! And that seed would have been spilt inside her, might have fostered a child. You'd like that, wouldn't you? A daughter, perhaps; like Buffy?"  
  
Ethan's still staring at me. I gather he can't think of what to say.  
  
"Where will you go?" I ask simply. Mine, the demon yells. I can feel the ripples beneath my skin at that smell.  
  
"The world is a vast and wondrous place," Ethan murmurs, smiling a little wanly at me, "I don't think I'll be seeing you again. Thank you for your help."  
  
He leaves, strolling out without a backward glance and I'm a little lost. The place is suddenly empty again.  
  
The demon is hollering and I'm ready to rip my own heart out if only to just shut him up. Which is ridiculous because I am the demon! I'm as human as the next man and as demonic as the next soulless vampire. It's like the Trinity except I don't get the Holy Spirit.  
  
The trip up creaking stairs to the roof isn't long or particularly hard, but the view is worth it. And for once I don't mean the lights of Los Angeles. Giles is there, staring out from the edge.  
  
"Puts the world into perspective, doesn't it?" I say.  
  
He jumps, whirling around. I hear his heart speed up from the shock. Green eyes wide and for the first time since I've known him he's not wearing his glasses. I wonder if he'd trip over something like that. I guess I'm just going to have to be there to make sure he doesn't.  
  
"Angel! I, uh, didn't expect to see you here."  
  
"You know, you're the second person to say that to me." I offer him a smile, and exhausted as he is, he smiles back. A quick curl of the lips, nothing more. But it sure beats weeping any day.  
  
"I imagine you met Ethan on his way out." He's sure of himself. Fred once said it was weird, the way he always knows what you're talking about. We all had a hearty laugh agreeing with her. "Does he look well?"  
  
"Very. At no small cost," I mention dryly. I'm right behind him now and if he were to take a step back, he'd be standing right against me. I can smell everything he is for the first time in weeks without the added taint of magic and blood.  
  
Giles chuckles. It's under his breathe, but I can hear him. "Don't keep bringing that up. I suppose I should thank you for that, shouldn't I? For talking sense into me? It seems I've been rather demented for a while now."  
  
I don't speak, just stand there and wait. Someone asshole down on the streets is honking his horn fit to raise the dead. And I should know- 'been there, done that and bought the shirt', as they say.  
  
"I'd forgotten about this," he tells me, looking down, "Everything was so dark! Have you ever been possessed by black magic influences? I have. Everything stays the same but there's the sense that you're looking at it all through dark glasses. I was getting the same feeling again. Which is why I came here; it felt like everything was doing black around the edges. And things seemed to be getting a little better until Ethan was brought in."  
  
I consider telling him that he doesn't have to tell me a word. After all, we don't particularly have a duty to each other. We didn't speak much before and we don't speak much now. There's nothing he needs to tell me.  
  
"I have to make you understand," Giles growls unexpectedly, slamming his hand down on the concrete it's resting against. "I put him in there. I gave him to them like so much laundry. And even after we found out what the Initiative did to Oz and people like that, I didn't try to find him. If it hadn't been for my stupidity, he wouldn't have ended up in Wolfram and Hart at all. I owed him! I owed it to him to help him get better. You have to understand that!"  
  
There's a step between us and this human is mine. What stops me from taking him? Certainly not him because I don't think his body will fight it too much. But I don't want his body. God, that sounds sick, but I mean it literally. I want his barely checked anger, I want his frustrations, I want his blood. Seeing him broken is not what I want, it's knowing I have a hold on him. What stops me asking for it? He'll be leaving soon anyway.  
  
I take that step and I'm standing right against him. I could press my face into his shoulder should I so desire it. I don't.  
  
Giles stiffens against me but he doesn't fight it. He's a Watcher and he knows the way a Master vampire feels about his property. It's appropriate that I don't have to explain it.  
  
"So you healed him. I understand that and so will anyone else. But why using that particular type of magic? I looked up Wesley's books. Sex magic is not the only way."  
  
"Punishment is a strange and exciting thing," he says dryly, "Ethan has a taste for it. And he deserved a chance to swing at me, to take his anger out on the person responsible. So I chose that spell. I didn't particularly enjoy, no."  
  
"But you enjoyed tonight," I remind him, sliding one finger into the waistband of his trousers.  
  
He stills completely and I get the feeling he will pull away in a minute. He's still weighing his options.  
  
"Yes," Giles admits, "I don't like pain. Like any other old sod, I'm a closet romantic. This was in the nature of a goodbye. We're never seeing each other again."  
  
I want to tell him never is a long time; that something will happen and one day they'll meet on the street of some faraway place and stare at each other until they realize what fools they were for letting go in the first place.  
  
I make my decision. I step back.  
  
For the first time during this surreal encounter he turns around. I know under that shirt are scars from not just Ethan's vicious whip but from my own fists. I wonder which of us own him more- Ethan Rayne or me. Green eyes stare at me, dropped a little because I'm shorter and we're face to face.  
  
"I'll probably be leaving soon," he says.  
  
There's still fear in him; it's buried deep inside him and I can see it. But there's a difference, this time; this time he fights it. He's done bending and bowing for other people. And a part of me mourns that. There's beauty in destruction and seeing the man in front of me unravel like a cheap shirt is probably something I will never see again.  
  
Giles rolls his eyes, clearly amused. "Are you even listening to me? Really! Sometimes I don't know why I bother!"  
  
"I heard you," I protest, stepping away a few more paces, "It's fine with me. Let me know if I can help out."  
  
"I'd thank you for all your help, but it seems singularly appropriate that you should give it to me."  
  
I almost growl at him for that pompous remark and he's well aware of it, because he's laughing at me with a satanic look in his eyes. "What?"  
  
"You wanted me to beg when you were torturing me. Oh yes, you said you wanted to know how to summon Acathla, but that was the bonus, wasn't it? Well, you finally got me broken and bleeding. And you put me back together. It's fitting."  
  
I shake my head, smile a little and head for downstairs.  
  
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It's late in the evening and I'm expecting Wesley and Gunn back at any moment. They went to drop Giles to the airport. Am I a little wistful about my decision? Perhaps. But I don't require a human any more for my needs and Giles made it abundantly clear that he wasn't breaking for me.  
  
The sounds of footsteps, the beating of two familiar hearts and my friends step through the door. Sometimes I can imagine I can see Cordelia look up from her magazine, a watchful look in her eyes in case it was a client with money. Turning off her life support system was the hardest thing I ever did and in my heart of hearts I know she would never have done that to me, were our roles reversed. But Cordelia is long gone and her grave lies peaceful, warded against the unnatural.  
  
"You back?" I call.  
  
Wesley and Gunn call back a 'hey' and drop into the nearest chairs. "Got him off," Gunn says.  
  
I can see Wesley's blue eyes go big and then crinkle at the corners at the joke Gunn's just made. "You have, have you?" he says with composure.  
  
And they settle down for a good argument. I watch them until I'm drawn in to referee. So I make peace, by drawing their sarcasm onto my own head, and wait for them to finish it off.  
  
"Did Ethan get there?" I ask.  
  
Wesley looks carefully at his shoes and Gunn shakes his head. "Didn't show. Wes and me swung by his place on our way back to ask why but it was empty. Seems he left this morning after the mail came."  
  
I shake my head, glorying in the perversity that is the human male- "Ethan," I sigh with resignation, "Is a damn fool!" 


End file.
